Guns And Horses
by Forever-Diamonds
Summary: AU/AH They are a destructive force; a black hole, but neither of them can seem to stay away.


**A/N: Ok, so I don't normally write one shots, but I thought I'd give my dear readers a little something just to let you know I haven't died, I've just been having a hideous case of writer's block. I have the last chapter of Before I Die almost done, and then I can work on wrapping up Bad Blood etc. This is AU/AH, by the way. I have no idea where the idea for it came from, but I hope you enjoy it! R&R**

**NEW YORK, PRESENT DAY**

Acrid smoke curls searchingly through the still air, coating every available surface in fine dust. Shards of glass littered across the room crunch obtrusively beneath his boots as he crosses the room. Plaster rains down from the ceiling but he doesn't notice, running a hand through his now-powdered hair in contemplative irritation. _They had her_.

Pausing by the window, he looks out at the glittering skyline beyond. The shattered glass casts angular shadows on his pale face, making his eyes glow aquamarine in the pre-dawn light. With a refined, practiced hand, he runs his finger down a jagged point of glass. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. Her scent still lingers in the air; delicate notes of strawberry and cinnamon waft over him, filling his very soul to the brim with longing. She was wearing the perfume he bought her.

His hand drops from the glass as he senses someone enter the room.

"She's done it again, hasn't she?" The touch of admiration colouring his colleague's voice makes the corner of his mouth curl upwards.

"She blew up the whole apartment," he murmurs reverently, returning a pale finger to the fractured windowpane. "All the evidence is just..._gone_."

Alaric swears loudly. "And to think, we were _so_ close to finally catching her. I guess she really is as good as they say."

"Mmh," he consents, nodding. "I guess she really is." He wheels around sharply. "Get everyone together. Call in a favour from Elijah if you have to. We can't lose her again."

_He_ can't lose her again.

**PARIS, TWO YEARS AGO**

"Votre café, monsieur."

The espresso cup clatters as the waiter sets it on the rickety outdoor table. He merely grunts in response, attention absorbed by the newspaper he is holding. He just about finishes reading the obituaries when he sees a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Intrigued, his eyes flick over the top of the paper, just in time to see her slide into the chair behind the table next to him. She is a vision, her scarlet sundress making her stand out from the humdrum sameness of the people of Paris. His curiosity is piqued because, well, she _is _beautiful; and there's _something_ about her that just...draws him in. Part of him quietly wonders if this is what moths feel like when they see a light bulb.

Setting down his broadsheet, he downs his coffee and makes his way over to her table. She glances demurely up at him as he sits down, and he smirks _that_ smirk at her.

"Have dinner with me," he blurts. The sudden outburst shocks even him, and he mentally kicks himself for being such an idiot.

She laughs, and the sound does funny things to his insides. "I'm sorry?"

"Have dinner with me," he repeats, more confidently this time.

"But we hardly know each other," she replies, bemused.

He smirks again. "Oh don't worry, you'll like me."

She chuckles graciously. "You sound very sure of yourself. What makes you so sure I'll like you? You don't even know me."

His eyes roll skyward. "Oh ye of little faith. I'll prove it to you. Let me take you out to dinner and I will prove to you that you _will _like me." He leans forward, challenge glinting in his azure eyes. "Or are you too scared?"

She hesitates for a fraction of a second and then nods decisively, gathering her things and linking her arm under his when he proffers it to her. As they cross the road he realises he forgot to pay the bill, and the law enforcement officer in him flares up briefly, but then he remembers the girl he barely knows who is clinging to his arm and he decides to just let it slide.

Dinner passes quickly,_ too_ quickly. They make small talk over good food and nice wine, and when she finally concedes that _yes, _she _does _like him, he grins like an idiot for ten minutes before she throws a napkin at him to shut him up. Then they sightsee, and he takes her up to the top of the Eiffel Tower and really, it's nauseatingly clichéd; but it doesn't seem to matter.

"What do you do?" she asks him, head nestled into the crook of his arm, gazing out into the star-spattered sky.

"I work for the FBI," he replies, twirling a strand of her silken hair round his index finger. "You?"

She shrugs airily. "Oh, I'm a thief." It's said with such sincerity, such conviction, that he believes her without hesitation.

He's not surprised to find his pockets empty the following morning.

**WASHINGTON, A WEEK LATER**

He's even less surprised when her file lands on his desk a week after their brief encounter. He peruses it thoughtfully, the ghost of a smile on his lips. 'The Doppelganger', known for her extremely daring and high-profile crimes and her uncanny aptitude at disguising herself so she is unrecognisable. As he flips through her list of marks, his eyebrows climb into his hairline. The White House, Buckingham Palace, The Louvre... The list fills three pages, but he's not really interested in that. He's interested to know that she's 25 and comes from a small backwater town in Virginia, and has no family to speak of apart from a brother in rehab and an absent aunt. He's interested to know that she was the only survivor in the car accident that killed her parents when she was 17.

"Who are you?" he muses aloud. "When will I see you again?"

**NEW YORK, PRESENT DAY**

The frantic buzz of her phone is almost inaudible over the hum of voices in the small coffee shop on the crowded New York street.

_Caller Unknown_

She lifts it to her ear, rolling her eyes. "Aren't you getting tired of following me by now?"

"How'd you do it?"

Static fills his ears as she sighs, and he watches her stir her coffee thoughtfully before she replies, "It wasn't easy. I had some help, of course. From a very charming man named Klaus Smith." She smirks as she hears him groan. "Perhaps you've heard of him?"

He utters a soft curse under his breath. "I thought I recognised the bomb." He shakes his head at her. "Listen to me, don't get involved with Smith. He is ruthless and he will _kill _you if you cross him."

"Aww," she coos, "You're trying to protect me. How sweet." She laughs flippantly, as if the situation they were in was amusing. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think?"

His knuckles whiten around the receiver and his teeth clench in anger. "This isn't a joke! If you value your life, you need to stay the hell away from Klaus Smith." He can hear another airy laugh bubbling in her throat, so he cuts her off. "Elena, _please_."

Her breath catches audibly in her throat as he speaks. He winces: it was a low blow, very deliberate, and he hates himself for it. He used her name. Her _real_ name; the one that belongs to a scared and vulnerable girl from Mystic Falls who wears flannel pyjamas to bed and phones her brother every night. But he's done. Done with this sick, twisted dance they do around one another which is causing more harm than good. They are a destructive force; a black hole, but neither of them can seem to stay away.

He swallows thickly. "I...I'm sorry."

She hangs up on him.

**AMSTERDAM, ELEVEN MONTHS AGO**

The chair he's tied to is worn and uncomfortable, but no matter how much he pouts, she refuses to let him move. She's preoccupied with a large safe, expert fingers working swiftly to crack the combination. A triumphant '_whoop_' escapes her lips as the lock clicks into place and the steel door swings open. He wonders, grinning, whether she's this giddy during all the jobs she does.

"I've missed you, you know," he informs her happily, not bothering to struggle against the ropes binding him to the accursed chair. "When was the last time we spent this much quality time together? It must have been in Kyoto. Or, no, wait, Mumbai?"

She looks up from sorting through wads of notes and rolls her eyes, before smirking slightly. "La Paz, Bolivia, two months ago."

He mock-gasps. "Why, darling, have you been keeping track?"

She stands up, hand on her hip, gun cocked in the other. "Do you _really_ want me to have to clean your brains out of the carpet?"

She crouches down again as he smirks at her. "I remember now. You broke in to the President's house." He closes his eyes, picturing the scene. "You were wearing that blue dress I bought you." He shakes the memory from his head. "Have you missed me?"

She strides past him without answering, having finally found what she was looking for. His smirk drops. "You know what'll happen once you deliver those plans to whoever hired you, right?"

"I'll get paid an obscene amount of money?"

He scoffs. "Everyone knows Al-Qaeda wants to get their hands on them. If you give those plans in, millions of people could die. I really don't think you'd want that on your conscience, would you?"

Her hand comes to rest on the doorframe, perfectly manicured red nails tapping lightly against the dark wood. "I don't _have_ a conscience, remember?"

She turns the lights off as she leaves.

Alaric and the rest of his team find him half an hour later, still struggling with the unpleasant chair. When he finally gets back to HQ his boss shouts at him, but he's not really listening, until his secretary runs in with an unnamed package sent from the Netherlands containing Grade 5 security plans and enough evidence to take down a very dangerous Dutch extremist group.

There's a wide smile on his face for the rest of the day.

**NEW YORK, PRESENT DAY**

"This will have to stop, you know." Klaus informs her when she comes to collect her money from him.

She pretends not to understand. "What do you mean?"

The Brit laughs darkly at her, shaking his head. "I mean Damon Salvatore. You can't coexist peacefully. Eventually one of you will destroy the other." He leans close to her and smiles cruelly. "You're just going to have to decide who it's going to be."

She leaves without replying.

**WASHINGTON, SEVEN MONTHS AGO**

"Hello, brother." There's a nervous lump in his throat as he speaks, and a sheen of sweat is forming on his palms. "I don't really know why I'm here, to be honest. I guess I just needed closure." He wipes his damp hands on his coat and laughs nervously. "I, uh, I met a girl a couple of years ago. Her name's Elena, although everyone knows her as 'The Doppelganger'. She's also a thief. A _really _good one. And I'm...the officer in charge of her case." He holds placating hands up. "I know, I know, you can laugh at me later. But I just feel so...different when I'm with her, so _alive_. It reminds me of you and Katherine, actually. I haven't seen her for a while either, ever since I got you shot in fact." He laughs bitterly. "I wonder why?"

The marble gravestone remains immobile.

He sighs; forcing a weary hand through his hair. "Listen, I know I was a bad brother to you, and for that I am truly sorry. And I know you wouldn't want me to blame myself for what happened, but I can't help it. It was _my_ intel we were following, _my _stupid mistake that got you killed. I just hope you can forgive me. I love you, brother. I always loved you. I guess I just didn't know how to show it."

A lone tear trickles down his cheek as he stoops to place the small bouquet by the headstone. His fingers brush the cool stone as he gets up. "Good bye, brother," he whispers, taking one last look at the tombstone before walking off through the cemetery.

**SAINT PETERSBURG, THREE MONTHS AGO**

She appears beside him as he trudges down the snowy street. He spares her a sideways glance but keeps walking, by now accustomed to her appearing _wherever _she pleases, _whenever_ she pleases. Suddenly feeling oddly resentful, he quickens his pace, smirking when she ends up almost jogging to keep up with him. They carry on like this until they reach the Trinity Bridge and he wheels around to face her. "What do you want?"

She cocks her head to one side, observing him, taking in the bags under his eyes and the three-day stubble peppering his chin. "Why are you sad?"

He laughs bitterly, pulling a rough hand across his face. "I asked first."

Her lower lip juts out in a pout that would be adorable if he wasn't so damn _tired_. "Can I not just check up on you from time to time?"

He pretends to consider the issue. "Um, _no_."

She tilts her chin in the air defiantly. "Fine. Now it's your turn. Why are you sad?"

Another laugh. This one is more hollow, resigned. "I'm just tired."

She nods once, understanding. An errant hair blows into her face. He wipes it way with the softest of touches and leans closer to her, so that his breath ghosts over her face. "You know you should be careful. I might start to think that you actually care."

She chuckles softly. "Don't hold your breath," she murmurs. And then she kisses him.

It's tender and sweet but also raw and passionate, full of the pent-up tension that's been building ever since she sashayed past him in that red dress all those months ago. Neither of them are holding back now, it's too late for that. They're in too deep, drowning with no hope of salvation. His hands come up to cup her face as she winds her arms around his neck and pushes her fingers into his raven hair. They pull each other so close, but yet it never seems to be quite close enough.

When they finally break apart, they're both gasping for air, and the world is spinning around them. Slowly, she removes her arms from his neck, tracing the contours of his face with her soft fingers. His eyes slide shut as she leans in again, this time to whisper in his ear, "Don't be sad."

She's gone by the time he opens his eyes.

**PARIS, FIVE MONTHS LATER**

They meet inside an abandoned warehouse in the 14ème arrondissement. Her heels clatter against the cold stone floor as she struts into the deserted building. He turns around to face her and smiles when he sees her dress.

"Do you remember when we first met?" he murmurs, fingering the scarlet material gently.

She nods. "Of course I do. Why do you think I wore this dress?"

He smiles again and releases the fabric, letting it flutter gently in the breeze. "I've missed you." This time it's not said in jest, there is only sincerity in his voice.

She touches a warm hand to the side of his face. "Why did you pick this place?" she asks, softly.

"It was quiet, and far away, and-" he breaks off, shaking his head. "I don't know." He sighs but presses on, feeling emboldened because it's Paris and it's _her _and she's wearing the dress. "We don't have to do this, you know. We can run away."

A laugh bursts forth from her lips, echoing around the high-ceilinged building. "Where to?"

He shrugs, spreading his arms out wide. "Anywhere."

"We'd tire of each other."

He tucks her hair behind her ear. "I'd never tire of you." He uses every last shred of honesty he possesses, gives her whatever he has left of himself; because he just doesn't _care_ about anything anymore. About anything but her.

This time she's the one who sighs. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why not?" he enquires, bemused and a little bit angry. "What's stopping you?"

"I-" she begins, and he can see the wetness growing in the corner of her eye.

He cuts her off. "You _what_? Don't tell me you can't, because we both know that's not true." He breaks off abruptly, barking a hollow laugh at her, not caring when he sees her flinch. "The big, bad Doppelganger." His tone is acerbic, his words cutting. "Why can't you just admit it?"

She takes a steadying breath. "Admit what?"

"Don't _do _that!" he roars, and this time she actually jumps. "Don't act like you don't care, like what we've been doing here doesn't mean anything to you." His voice breaks. "Like I don't mean anything to you."

"Don't do this," she breathes. "Don't make it harder than it has to be."

He casts his eyes towards the ground, and when he looks up they're filled with resignation. It almost breaks her heart. His eyes flutter shut as he feels the gun barrel press into his stomach. He opens them again. "I love you."

The corners of her mouth pull up. It's the first time he's even seen her genuinely smile. She looks beautiful. "I know," she whispers.

She pulls the trigger.

They find her body in a nearby alleyway the following morning.

**A/N: Well that was...cheerful. Sorry :) How was it? Good? Bad? Let me know in a lovely review. R&R**


End file.
